


Maydenhede

by Val_Creative



Category: Disney - All Media Types, Disney Princesses, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Tragedy, Attempted Murder, Barebacking, Blood, Comeplay, Crying, Dark, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Face Slapping, Forest Sex, Forests, Implied/Referenced Animal Death, Loss of Innocence, Manhandling, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Period-Typical Sexism, Possessive Behavior, Pregnancy Kink, Protectiveness, Punishment, Rough Sex, Unrequited Lust, Vaginal Sex, Violence, Weapons, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27733714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Unable to kill Snow White and take her heart, the Huntsman instead takes her for his pleasure before ordering her to flee.
Relationships: Huntsman/Snow White (Disney)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 64
Collections: Naughty List 2020





	Maydenhede

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Harpalyke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harpalyke/gifts).



*

Many things die in winter. The Huntsman supposes this is only one more.

He allows Snow White to wander as she pleases, marching towards the woods beyond the Evil Queen's castle. Her hands gather full of wild roses paling of their singular beauty. Her voice trills and hums, but it lacks the joy he's accustomed to.

Never had the Huntsman seen her but in rags or plainclothes — Snow White carries herself as a princess, beautiful as the sunlight itself glittering on ice-encrusted bark, flowing in her light yellow skirts. A jewel-dark blue bodice sewn with a high white collar and light blue puffed sleeves exposing red cloth beneath. Like slashes of blood. The Huntsman's throat clenches up. 

_Gods be good—_

Snow White lowers her hood to a brown wool cloak, no longer humming. She lowers herself as well to rest onto a log. 

"Have ye come for my life, Huntsman?"

"Aye," the Huntsman says solemnly. Without any hesitation.

He would never lie to Snow White.

He has been there since Snow White was a mere child, running into the King's arms and squealing in delight. He was there when the King died of the Evil Queen's poison and the court did nothing. He was there and did nothing when the Evil Queen ordered him to kill Snow White.

Snow White gazes up at him like a lost, pitiful animal facing their doom. Her and her ebonywood hair. Her blood red lips. Her pale skin akin to the new snow around them. Snow White's tears as brilliant as the hoarfrost melting and dripping.

The Huntsman finds himself wiping her tears, his leather-gloved forefinger caressing her. She hangs her head.

_Gods be good and forgive him for this treachery—_

He unsheathes the Evil Queen's dagger gifted to him. Its handle crafted of a heavy, solid gold. Precious stones of emerald and sapphire and ruby twinkle under the sun's wintry light. To trade this dagger would be to feed his village for several seasons.

Upon inspection, the Huntsman recognizes that the blade is not sharp enough for a quick death.

That is with purpose, he expects. The Evil Queen wishes Snow White to be harmed and to suffer until she breathes her last.

Doubt clouds his mind. His loyalty to the crown torn between the Huntsman's queen and his princess.

The Huntsman raises the dagger over Snow White's head. She is merely ten-and-five. A sapling. An innocent, young sprout.

He catches the odor of sweet, cold roses on her, as they flutter to the ground. She is a fawn of beauty and grace, waiting.

Sitting and waiting.

He has killed men and women before. The Huntsman envisions her death, as all of the deaths before, with Snow White gagging and pleading and bleeding hotly in his hands. She would crawl away, leaving a great red trail behind her. Beg for him to cease.

Only this time, the Huntsman cannot bear it. Everything inside him aches.

_Gods forgive him—_

At the sound of the Evil Queen's dagger returning to his belt, Snow White refuses to look up. 

The Huntsman removes his leather-brown cap, bowing to her. "I cannot take thy heart," he murmurs. "Flee."

She finally gazes up once more. Flakes of powdery snow cling to her long, wet eyelashes.

"Pardon?"

"Flee, whelp," the Huntsman says gruffly. "I will speak no more of this. Thou must flee. Thou must hide thyself before the Queen finds thee. Thou must flee into the woods and never return to thy Father's castle. She will find thee and kill thee before long."

"I do not understand—"

He slaps her. Maybe to frighten Snow White away, or maybe to knock sense into her, but it is done with the Huntsman's anger behind it. He feels this anger for Snow White, and for himself, and for a dead, rotted King, and loathes the Evil Queen for it.

Snow White lurches. She whines out, her blood-red lips quivering.

The Huntsman wishes to taste those lips. To quell his anger and the fire in his loins now raging like a hundred torches. 

He pulls Snow White onto her dainty little feet, holding her and practically swallowing her little warm mouth against his. His beard rubs on Snow White's fragile skin, chaffing her, paining her with the tiniest, unfamiliar pinpricks of sensation.

The Huntsman humps her standing as she cries out in alarm and thrashes in his burly arms. He only grips her harder to keep her. 

"I will let thee go," the Huntsman insists. "Allow thyself a comfort before leaving this place."

It matters not. 

Snow White fights him so passionately, but uselessly, as he lies her down. Her red-bow headband slips off.

The Huntsman slaps her with enough force to crack her neck. Drool, bloody and oozing, gleams on the corner of Snow White's swollen mouth. He cannot know if it was from kissing or striking her. He cannot feel pity of it.

A woman must submit, or she receives a _punishment_.

She whimpers, abandoned to fear and shame, as the Huntsman yanks up her petticoats. Her undergarments tear apart in his hands.

His sickly green eyes widen down on her perfect little white mound. Dark curls expose between Snow White's thighs.

Half delighted and half maddened, the Huntsman runs his fingers to her cunt-lips, prodding them open and slicking up his glove. Two of his fingers jam inside Snow White, feeling her warmth and tightness despite the barrier of leather. She bucks herself weakly, sobbing her heart out. It's what the Evil Queen desired most — Snow White's heart left in _ruination_.

The thought of her unclaimed, whole and pure, thrums in the Huntsman's chest.

He loosens his breeches, freeing his cock and pressing it against her.

There's no oil. No grease or saliva to ease the passage for them.

He buries himself into her cunt, feeling every burning inch of resistance. Snow White lets out a high screeching wail, getting louder and louder, with his thrusts to follow. He uses her raw, nudging her little flailing legs on either side of his hips.

Her lips feel chapped on the Huntsman's mouth kissing her, and appear a bright, shiny red.

Red as the blood trickling on the snow between Snow White's legs.

_Three drops._

Bright as her mother's pricked finger when Snow White was conceived.

Snow White can no longer move herself, wailing as he fucks her quicker and deeper. Her cheeks flushed with effort.

The Huntsman, beyond reason or loyalty to the princess's virtue, envisions getting her filthy with her seed, dripping with it, filling her. Filling Snow White with his babe. Watching her stomach grow round and heavy in his palms. Sucking on her teats leaking milk.

He grunts over her, sweating and blaspheming, feeling Snow White's cunt akin to an agonizing, heavenly vice on his prick.

Soon enough, the Huntsman empties inside her. He thrusts all of the way, until the Huntsman can feel Snow White's little, naked mound on him, witnessing her quiver helplessly in the snow. Her eyes roll to their whites. Pleasure thumps in his veins.

Jerking out of her cunt, he witnesses more. Hot and milky seed drips out. It gushes onto Snow White's blood heating the silvery-ice snow. The Huntsman touches her cunt's entrance in a devastated fascination, examining her, scooping out more of his own seed.

Snow White lies quietly on her back, half on her wool cloak, quivering again when the Huntsman tugs gently her cunt-lips.

They've already wasted the hour.

"On thy feet—aye, there's a good girl—" the Huntsman says harshly, dragging Snow White upright and shoving her. "Flee."

Her petticoats and light yellow skirt graciously still cover her. 

She stares, dumbstruck by her terror.

_"Flee!"_

The Huntsman's voice roars out so thunderously that birds take flight. Snow White finally obeys, stumbling and crying until she's gasping raggedly, limping off into the woods until the Huntsman can no longer see her through the snow-capped oaks. 

He has no belief that she can survive the long winter alone. Not a princess living her life under a guard's watch.

If no kindly wanderer comes along… then, as it will… frost _will_ creep over Snow White's bones.

The Huntsman swallows down his guilt. He discovers a boar in a trap, using the dagger and wrenching out its beating heart. A heart is a heart, or so the Huntsman repeats. He places it in the ornate, red velvet-lined box gifted to him by the Evil Queen.

A heart is a heart.

*


End file.
